Camouflage
by AltoBass
Summary: A young stallion shouldn't be left alone in the Everfree jungle, but PFC Brassmane didn't have a choice. He found himself in this situation, now he has to get himself out. The griffons are looking everywhere for him, no pony around to help, how is he going to get out alive? Lucky for him, there's one legendary marine who's a perfect fit for the job.


Do you remember the days of the Everfree wars? I do. You see, back in '65, 'Free was quite a different place. It was more of a jungle than a forest, especially when you got real deep in. We were fighting with the griffons over territory and politics. It was hardly a place for an 18-year-old colt to start his adult life.

I was PFC Brassmane back then, out on my first search patrol mission, huntin' for griffs. Now, the griffons have held the jungles longer than us ponies, so they know the lay of the land better. That's how they get the drop on us, they hide where we can't see 'em. They got good when the sun went down, better when the moon was behind the clouds.

It's not the situation you ever want, split up by an ambush in the middle of the night, beaks everywhere, starin' you down, but I had to deal with it now. Lucky for me, I had everything I needed. A brand new rifle, a camouflaged face, counter-ambush training, and Princess Celestia on my side to see me through. But sometimes, even all that just isn't enough.

The P16 has a habit of jamming up right when you need it most. I was in a good hiding spot, but I had a jammed weapon. Worse still, the enemy was looking for me and I couldn't return fire. I probably could have cleared my jammed gun, but the noise would have given me away. Besides, there were too many targets for me to take head-on. It was only a matter of time before they found me.

It's unbelievably unnerving not knowing when you're gonna die. What makes it worse is every little sensation or noise. Griffons speak a different language from us ponies. Their language is an angry-sounding set of shrieks and spits. A single twig snapping makes you think he may be right behind you with a sharp beak just inches from your skull. I dug in to my fox hole, scared to the bone, clutching what may as well be an empty gun.

Finally, I saw what I thought was a break in the enemy formation. A gap maybe just wide enough for me to slip through and escape. This may be the only chance I get to keep my life, and by Celestia's great beard, I was going to make it count. What happened next, I will never forget.

There was somepony behind me alright, but I never even saw or heard him coming. He wanted me to know he was there, though. He did this with just one word.

"Wait"

Not a griff, but an Equestrian Royal Marine, a big one. I turned my head just enough to see his big friendly eyes. I haven't seen eyes this blue since I waved goodbye to my mare back home. Nor have I seen even drill instructors this size.

"Let 'em pass," he whispered to me. Looking back to the griffs, I saw what he was talking about. Another pair of griffins I missed came out from under a bush, claws clutching their distinct sabers. it wasn't for this big marine, I'd have ran right to my death. They were scanning the area, looking for anypony unlucky enough to survive the ambush. Apparently, we were hidden well enough to fool 'em. Funny, considering this was the jungle birds' home turf.

"What if they find us?" I asked, concerned about our immediate fate. They could always come back and double check themselves. Besides, he looked like he had no weapons whatsoever. I only had my jammed gun, so I was effectively unarmed as well.

"I'm here with you, son," he said with confidence I almost believed, "If them beaks want to tango, they've got two to dodge, now." He was keeping watch on the enemy. He seemed to know their movements. If he knew that much, we may just make it out of this.

I don't know what it was about this big marine, but I could just feel something special about him. Maybe I was just going crazy after thinking I'd lose my life. Maybe I was just glad to see the only other pony around. Of course, I like to think it was because he was just damn good at what he did.

The big marine sprang up from his hiding spot without a sound. He already had an escape route planned that could include me as well. I did my best to keep up and keep quiet, but doing both was a delicate balance for me. I almost lost sight of him twice, but eventually, we made it away from the patrols and could put some distance between us. After about ten minutes of running, he slowed down to a walking pace and kept to the jungle floor, careful not to brush past any foliage.

"We're in the clear, now," he said. He was now in relaxed stealth mode. Quiet enough to stay hidden and paying attention to his surroundings, but he could still talk without worrying about losing his cover.

"Hey, thanks for saving me," I finally said, slowing down to catch my breath. "I'm Brassmane, PFC Brassmane. What's your name?"

"The boys just call me Camouflage," was his only reply. His response was quick, but warm, as if he cared about getting me out of here. I couldn't see any rank or identifying marks on his uniform, nor could I hear his dog tags rattling around. This stallion really was a silent professional.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. His head whirled around to look behind us and his ears snapped to attention. He heard something that shouldn't be there. I heard it too, that's what made it so scary. It was a dull metallic click. But not just any click, it was the distinct click of a griffonstone-made GK-47 rifle switching from safe to fire. If there was one, there were at least ten more close by.

"Run." Did Camouflage say that or was it my survival instincts speaking? Either way, I was hoofing it the other way the instant the rounds started flying. I did all I could, finding concealment in the dense foliage and solid cover behind rocks and fallen trees. Snaking my way through the trees was the best way to keep myself as much a moving target as I could. Two ponies against at least a dozen armed griffons and not once were either of us hit. Trees were splintering as rounds hit them, but the bullets seemed to go right through us, like we weren't there.

I started to gain some glimmer of hope as the sun started to rise. However, I remembered that griffon vision was also good in daylight. The longer this cat-and-mouse game went on, the sooner we would likely die. Out of the dense jungle and near the muddy river bank, we ran into an ambush. These griffs were obviously lying in wait. The best thing I could have done was hide in what little concealment there was. The bushes could only hide my form, not protect it from flying lead. I learned this the hard way.

You know that moment right before your life ends and time just seems to slow to a crawl? Well, for me, I could pick out individual rounds being fired. Even saw the round that would have ended my ordeal right then and there. I could even swear that in my frenzied state, I saw my name carved into the side of that spinning chunk of hate heading my way. The bush I was hiding behind didn't help at all, the bullet came buzzing through all the same. Someone's hoof, however, that is what it took to spare my life.

All I saw was a blur in front of my face, then the bullet was gone. Time was flowing normally again, we were running from the GK fire and I noticed something that made my heart sink. Camouflage was hit! His front right hoof was bleeding , but he was pressing on. I was about to point out his injury, but he was already aware. "Don't worry about me, keep going kid," he shouted over the gunfire. Did he just swat a bullet out of the air? To this day, I'm still not sure if it was him, or if I just ran behind a tree.

The griffons were known for their guerilla warfare, hit and run, not sustained encounters. After their second or third magazine, they disappear back into the jungle to do it all over again tomorrow. We kept moving until mid-morning, far from the kill zone at this point. I was exhausted, I felt like I was going to collapse from starvation.

"You made it, Brass," Camouflage announced. I saw him standing atop a small hill, looking at something in the distance. I got up there myself, and what I saw rekindled the fire in my belly to keep going. It was my base camp. The 75th Infantry Battalion flag was waving proudly in the breeze, soldiers were bustling around, and Major Might's thunderous voice was audible even from this distance. I didn't even think, I just ran straight past Camouflage to get back to safety.

Wait, one last courtesy before going back. I wanted to thank this big marine for his help. I wouldn't be here today if not for him. I didn't get more than a few paces away before I turned around to address him, but by the time I did, he was gone. I went back up to the hill and there was no trace of him. No hoofprints, no broken twigs, no scent, it was like he just vanished into thin air.

HQ had quite a tale from one of their privates. 'Just can't make this sort of stuff up,' said the colonel. I told him about my crazy night and how a big marine named Camouflage helped me survive. It must have been really disturbing to some of the other soldiers, because when I said his name, they just walked away with pale faces and expressions like they just saw a ghost.

Somepony had to know what was making them act this way and luckily for me, a medic seemed to have the stomach to tell me what was going on. He took me to a specially marked medical tent. It had no windows and it was far from the other tents in the camp. Good thing, too, because the smell was almost unbearable.

"I don't doubt you, son," the medic began, "but there is a problem with your story." To explain the problem to me, all he did was pull back the flap to the tent to reveal a dead stallion's body. He was so big he needed two stretchers side by side to hold up his body."Gunnery Sergeant Camouflage has been right here since he passed away at 0102 hours this morning," he explained. He even had the medical records to prove it.

Now it was me who was stunned silent, face going as pale as if I just saw a ghost. You know, thinking back on what happened last night, I just might have. I walked out of that tent with so much on my mind. How was I saved by a dead marine? How much of that did I see and how much was just my imagination? Did I really run all this way without unjamming my gun?

"Before you go," the medic called out to me. I stopped and turned to hear what he had to say. "I think you should know. His last wish was to save just one last life before he lost his." If I believed in spirits and last chances before death, then this would have given me some closure. Instead, I was even more confused.

I really shouldn't be alive right now. I should have become just another casualty of 'Free. Instead, this strange marine gave up his life so I could keep mine. One thing I do know, never go to war alone. It saved my skin and Celestia willing, it'll save you too. And always watch out for the things you can't see. 'Cause in this world, things are never quite the way they seem.

Author's Note:

This story is based on Stan Ridgway's song "Camouflage" (1986). How would ponies handle themselves in war? This one story in one theater at one point in the ponies' history.


End file.
